a bad influence

Ezra Pound, Bukowski and Allen Ginsberg lie at my feet 

all copies are stolen 

it makes me laugh 

it makes me cry 

when i lie 

to myself 

and steal from a library 

it's a bad influence - 

the thrill of all these words; 

under my jacket; 

pressing against my chest 

this is roughly how it works... 

i go in 

pick up whatever interests me 

stuff whatever that might be into every available cavity 

and leave 

usually get a ripple on the threshold. 

an echo 

a recurring flashback from bad trips to the very-free-shop 

hm... then what? 

well then i bounce all over the street 

like manic hopscotch 

these hot volumes 

fresh from the shelf 

down my boxers 

starting to singe 

surplus spines 

starting to spill from my collar, till 

i hit the green of the park 

bun up a zoot 

and let this language do dirty things to me 

he-he-he 

ho-ho-ho